


February 15

by peppermintquartz



Series: Finn's Playroom [4]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/F, Post-Coital, Post-breakup, Wrong Name, actually mid-coital to post, past Charlynch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 17:32:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: “God, Charlie, ease off the throttle, I’m wiped,” she gasps, her voice much raspier than usual.Her partner looks up from where she is licking. “Who the fuck is Charlie?”





	February 15

**Author's Note:**

  * For [balorclubjoey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balorclubjoey/gifts).



> This is set in the Playroom!verse so it's that Becky (with the great hair) and not wrestling Becky.

Becky pushes her mass of coppery red hair out of her face, but tendrils still stick to her face and the ends of a few strands remain stuck in her mouth. She’s currently too preoccupied to care, however, her attention fully on the blonde between her legs.

They’ve been at it for most of the night, and Becky is a loose-limbed, sweaty mess, having lost count of how many times they’ve brought each other to climax. When she feels three slender fingers slide into her again, she exhales, shuddering, and her entire body feels like it’s lit in flames from within when the other woman rubs a thumb on her clit in firm circles and her tongue joins in the fun. She cries out, thighs shivering, and her mind blanks out into blessed static.

“God, Charlie, ease off the throttle, I’m wiped,” she gasps, her voice much raspier than usual.

Her partner looks up from where she is licking. “Who the fuck is Charlie?”

 _Shit._ Becky props herself up on her elbows and smiles apologetically at the muscular blonde with the piercings. “Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to- _ohh,_ oh god, shit. Babe, you gotta warn a girl before you - _aah -_ yes, before you do that.”

The blonde sits back on her heels, wiping across her chin lazily with the back of her hand. To her credit, she doesn’t seem too pissed about Becky’s slip of the tongue. Probably because Becky’s already slipped her the tongue a few times earlier. When she next speaks, her Australian accent is a lot stronger. “Charlie’s your ex?”

“You could say that,” Becky drawls, flopping back on the bed, suddenly feeling far too exhausted to continue. She smirks at the other woman, trying to recall her name. Too many drinks earlier in protest of Valentine’s Day. “Want a shower?”

The blonde shrugs. She’s muscular and tall, her straight chin-length hair an absolute _mess_. Her nose ring glints in the light from the table lamp. “Sure.”

Becky sits up and kisses her, enjoying the taste of herself in the other woman’s mouth. “Sorry about that. Come on, you can have first shower.”

“Or we can shower together,” the blonde suggests, raising a brow archly.

Becky laughs and accedes. They use up all the hot water, but that’s alright, since Paige is out somewhere else, no doubt having spent her Valentine’s Day in much the same way as Becky herself. (Joe never opens the bar on February 14, thank fuck. There are only so many morose love stories the three of them can take before one of them kills a patron.)

The blonde woman blow-dries her hair while Becky changes the sheets, bundling the dirty ones off to the side. Then she helps the redhead dry her long hair, her fingers making sure every section gets some attention.

“Wanna tell me about this _Charlie_ guy?” she asks as Becky puts away the hair dryer.

Becky shrugs. “Not a guy. But, you know. Ex.”

“Bad breakup, huh.”

“Kinda.” Becky remembers the scorn in Charlotte’s eyes when they faced each other for the very last time, when Becky was at Grand Central with a cheque for ten grand in her pocket from Charlotte’s father in exchange for her leaving New York. She wonders if Charlotte ever found out why Becky broke up with her. She wonders if Charlotte ever thinks about her, the way she thinks about the blonde she left behind on the east coast.

If Charlotte’s thrown away the engagement ring.

“I guess it’s Valentine’s Day. Brings out the sap in all of us.”

The blonde sighs and walks up to Becky. She’s taller than the Irish woman, and drapes her arms over Becky’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. “Hey, we all got our heartbreaks. You should’ve told me I was a rebound fuck though. I’d have put more effort into it, wear my tongue stud.”

Becky smiles softly at her. “Tongue stud? You’re way nicer to me than I deserve. What’s your name again? I think you fucked it outta my head.”

The other woman laughs, throwing her head back. “My close friends call me Ripley.”

“As in ‘Alien’ Ripley?”

“Don’t make fun. Sigourney Weaver is the _shit_ ,” says Ripley mock-seriously. Her crooked smile is charming and sweet, entirely at odds with how she first presented herself in the bar Becky was in, ripped jeans and black tank top, dark lips and a challenging flirt to her brows.

It makes Becky’s heart _ache_ for what she’s given up. But it’s for the best, really. Ric retired, as promised; Charlotte is now running the Flair dynasty. More importantly, leaving Charlotte and New York meant Charlotte is no longer in the Empress’ crosshairs, and once Finn established ties with the Flairs, Charlotte is as shielded as anyone can be from Becky’s world. Some day Becky will have to contend with Asuka, but for now she’s under Joe’s protection and the Empress plays by the rules.

Brushing her knuckles over Ripley’s left cheek, she leans in and kisses the other woman. “You’re sweet,” she tells her. “You wanna borrow some of my clothes to sleep in, or do you sleep in the altogether?”

“Which would you prefer?” Ripley asks, obviously teasing. She kicks the messy pile on the floor where they’ve ditched their clothes. “A tee and panties, but only if you’re cool with that.”

“I’ve literally had my tongue in you,” Becky points out. She tosses her largest, most comfortable old tee shirt and a pair of cotton boy shorts. It’s endearing seeing someone in her clothes, getting ready to sleep in her bed. Becky crawls in and turns out the light, and is startled when Ripley slides her arm over the Irish woman’s waist. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t like being the little spoon?”

The last time Becky spooned anyone, she was still in New York living in a shitty walk-up and Charlotte was still at loggerheads with her old man. She makes herself relax. “I’m usually the big spoon is all.”

“You wanna be the big spoon tonight?” Ripley asks, nosing at Becky’s nape, lips nibbling playfully.

Becky thinks about it. She thinks about Charlotte and her long hair that smells of vanilla, of her ample breasts where Becky used to rest her hand when they sleep, of her soft snores. Then she exhales. “Nah. This is good.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've never really written F/F but here we are. Can't believe I'm the first to write Becky/Rhea  
> Also, Rhea Ripley's tongue stud *fans self*.


End file.
